To Serve the King
by sundayrain26
Summary: "Loki didn't just use Clint for intel." Loki takes full advantage of his control over Clint. Slight dub-con/non-con. Hawkeye/Loki. One-shot turned chapter fic. Inspired by a drawing of LadyNorthstar's on deviantArt.
1. Chapter 1

Alrighty~! This little piece of shameless smut is brought to you by a fabulous drawing by LadyNorthstar on deviantArt.

ladynorthstar. deviantart. com /#/ d4z4ye9

(Just remove the spaces.)

I was inspired, asked permission to write a ficlet and away I went. This is the end result. I hope you like it. :3

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To Serve the King

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"Oh Clinton.."

The smooth, softly accented voice breaks through his silent reverie. He blinks once and slowly turns his head just slightly toward the source of the voice. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he's aware that he should be unnerved at how easily Loki was able to sneak up on him, but he can't focus on the thought enough for it to bother him.

"Would you join me? I'd like to have a word with you, little hawk." The words come out with a soft smirk. Loki watches long enough to see the man rise and begin to descend from his isolated perch. He turns on his heel and moves down a hallway to a dark room containing a stone throne upon a platform surrounded by long stone steps. He can hear the near silent steps of the human trailing behind him. Content with the agent's obedience, he seats himself in his throne, regal and poised, his sceptre at his side.

Clint stops two steps down from Loki, quietly regarding him with faintly glowing blue eyes. The god crooks a finger at him, beckoning him forward. His head tilts ever so slightly but his feet carry him forward without hesitation. When he stops again, he's toe-to-toe with his king.

"So, my little hawk. What have you to tell me about your friends? You're quite close to the little red-haired one are you not?"

"Nat?" He blinks, a fleeting moment of clarity flashing through his mind. "Natasha Romanoff?" The haze settles back in, thicker than before, just as quickly as it had cleared.

A soft encouragement, "Yes," fills his ears as a lone hand reaches toward him. "Come, my dear."

Without a single thought, he fluidly slides forward to kneel over the god's lap. A thin hand touches his waist, glides up to cup the side of his neck. It's almost as if his mind grays out. He's aware of his mouth moving, steadily spilling secret after secret, sharing things he'd sworn would never pass his lips. The only thing to show for his distress is a faintly furrowed brow. Two hands are upon him now, caressing his body, bringing about a faint flush over his skin. His stomach rolls and twists tightly as he mindlessly betrays his best friend of every diminutive detail she had confided in him. He'd be physically ill if he had half a mind to be.

He's vaguely aware of his pants being undone and pushed down. Oh – he hadn't noticed that Loki's attention left him half hard. He pauses in his verbal tirade for a beat, a flash of shock and shame burning through him before the fog swallows it whole as cool fingers stroke between his butt cheeks. It's an unfamiliar sensation but is profoundly mesmerizing.

Or perhaps it was just the mind control thing. He didn't have the facilities to tell.

God, his mouth is still moving. He knows a full lifetime of tales after all. A finger plays at his hole, circling before pressing in. His words finally stop and his body works on impulse to expel the intrusion.

"Sh, shhh.. relax little hawk," Loki croons sweetly, his unoccupied hand stroking soothing patterns along the exposed skin of his hip.

Clint twitches faintly but has no way to refuse; no hope to avoid anything wanted of him. His body obeys and allows the digit to slip in and out with ease. A second finger joins the first and it's as though the message to resist is lost between a small corner of his mind and the control he held over his body–except the control was really Loki's, there was no denying that. Against every fiber of his being, his cock twitches and continues to gorge with blood. He's not sure if it's the humiliation bubbling beneath the surface or his traitorous arousal fueling the flush warming his body.

His eyes narrow when Loki's fingers stop fucking him and he's pushed to his feet.

"Remove your boots."

He readily complies, tossing them aside.

"Good boy.. now kneel."

His body lowers itself steadily, face devoid of emotion. He watches passively as Loki casually opens his trousers, letting his hips tilt into a slight slouch as he pulls himself free.

When he speaks again, it's in a slightly husky tone, "Lick me."

Clint's tongue traces his own lips as he shuffles forward, his hands landing on Loki's thighs. Even through the miasma in his mind, he studies the organ protruding before him; it's quite long with a decent girth, a flared, pink head and delicately bulging veins. His mouth opens, thankfully not to spill more sworn secrets; however, his tiny glimmer of consciousness shudders at the task set before him. He gives a broad swipe of his tongue then another, root to tip. A surprisingly gentle hand fingers through his soft blonde hair, guiding his mouth down. He obliges the silent direction and closes his lips over firm flesh, playing his tongue over the silky smooth skin, hollowing his cheeks and slowly bobbing his head. The cool hand curls around the base of his skull and begins to push and pull, setting the pace and depth. Clint's nose brushes the patch of soft black curls and he gags lightly as his throat is filled with warm, throbbing flesh.

By the time Loki releases him, he has spit dripping down his chin, swollen lips and a pretty red face. He stands at his king's direction his pants falling. He pulls his right leg free before he is guided back into the god's lap, black pants hanging hooked on his left knee. Loki slouches further and places a hand on Clint's hip. He holds himself steady, lines up with the human's waiting entrance and physically drags the man down on to his erection.

Clint's legs quake and give out, leaving him straddling Loki and further impaling himself. A low groan tears past his vocal cords and the god sighs blissfully. He caresses Clint's face, murmuring, "Little hawk.. you're going to fuck yourself on my cock. Until I come." His free hand suddenly has the sceptre in it and he's bracing it around behind Clint's lower back. Without a word, he shifts to gain leverage and begins to lift off and plunge back down.

Sweat begins to form over his entire body and his legs quiver with the repetitive motion. Soft moans bring his gaze to the man beneath him. He is lounging, his right hand curled into a fist and supporting his jaw while the other maintains its grip on his staff. A slight smile graces the god's features and his eyes are closed. "Such a good boy," he gasps softly.

The irritation within him builds and he's screaming in his mind, struggling to show even the slightest sign of resistance, of disapproval. He twists his torso, one hand reaching for balance, landing on Loki's shoulder, the other grasping the sceptre digging into his back. Determined to be done, Clint quickens his pace, his breath coming in little huffs with the exertion, toes curling. The slight change in position has Loki's dick brushing his prostate with each down stroke and he's once again brought to the realization that he is painfully aroused. His cock is an angry purple and leaking all over his king's fine clothing–a part of him is quite pleased by this.

Loki finally opens his eyes, moves his hand to clutch at Barton's hip and begins to thrust up in earnest. "Filthy boy," he grunts, the green in his eyes nearly swallowed up by his pupils. His body trembles, tenses and a wet warmth fills Clint. He's still bouncing up and down, grinding against the god's narrow hips as his balls tighten. A high keening sound stutters from his throat and he comes all over Loki's torso and face.

They slump down together, Loki cradling his latest toy against him, a ghost of a grin pulling at his lips as he practically purrs against the human's ear, "You serve your king well."

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In response to any disgruntled readers (such as my anon reviewer): I posted a dub-con warning in the summary, so you had fair warning and did not need to read it. If you don't like it and proceed to read anyway, than that is your own fault. Any further negative reviews regarding the content will be ignored or, in extreme cases, removed.


	2. Chapter 2

Finally! I've had a portion of this chapter written for months and have been struggling with it. I just recently sat down and was able to put the rest of it together.

I am still shocked at the response this story has received. Thousands of views and all the lovely reviews, favourites and follows. Plus the poll results. Which, by the way, means this is heading toward a case of Stockholm syndrome for our dear Hawkeye.

I apologize for the delay and hope you enjoy!

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The following days form a kind of pattern. Clint wakes from a restless sleep, his glowing blue eyes staring blankly before he can gather himself enough to get up and tend to his humanly needs before reporting to Loki. He contributes mindlessly to strategic discussions. For the most part, they're at a stand still as they gather numbers to carry out their king's plans. And of course Selvig is working at an exhausting pace with the tesseract. Clint doesn't really understand all the scientific babble. He doesn't have to.

Even through the haze his mind has become, he notices that Loki tends to keep him close. Closer than the rest of his subjects. To have that kind of attention after the kind of life he's led is a bit of a novelty. He does Loki's bidding without batting an eye. He's almost forgotten that this isn't truly his mind. Not entirely.

Each day, once everything is tended to and Loki is somewhat content with their progress, they retreat alone. Loki has a space that he seems to have magicked into a room for himself. That is the only possible explanation for the furnishings. Everything in the room is a striking contrast to the bare underground warehouse setting of their base. Clint thinks the stuff looks like something out of a museum or a castle but made of magnificent materials. Glass and gold and silk. It's not to his taste at all but he's not in his right mind anyhow so it doesn't really matter.

He's not sure what time of day it is, there's not much to tell by in this compound. Next to no windows and they hardly ever venture above ground. It must be late though as they enter the lavish room. He's two steps behind Loki and he's almost used to the door automatically clicking shut without a single touch.

Loki sighs raggedly. This is the only time he ever even hints at any kind of weakness. Clint is humbled by the apparent openness.

Whoever his king is working with has been wearing him thin. He's seen him in those trance-like states; it's when his mind seems to be the clearest. He's also seen Loki break out of such trances with fright-filled eyes and a cold sweat. It actually tugs at his heart to see Loki so distressed. There is the faintest glimmer in his mind chanting that the crazy coot deserves it, but it seems to grow quieter with each passing occurrence.

"Hawk," Loki calls softly, drawing him in like a beacon.

"Yea boss?" he inquires, coming to attention before his king. He knows what is coming.

Loki doesn't say a word, just reaches for him, pulling him effortlessly forward like a magnet attracts iron. He places a rather chaste kiss soundly upon the side of Clint's neck and with a flick of his fingers, their clothes dissolve away. Handy thing, that magic. "What can I do for you, my king?" he murmurs reverently. Hang on, was that right? A corner of his mind questions just how appropriate his willingness is but he swats it away even as the ever present fog encompasses the thought. Of course this was right. He was made to serve Loki.

The god smiles softly, genuinely, "Mmm, just let me enjoy you, my dear." His long, thin hands are already exploring his body, tracing scars and muscles alike.

Soft lips kiss along his collarbone and up his throat. "Anything you want," Clint agrees breathily on a sigh, lids fluttering shut over glowing pupils as his chin tips up. That annoying voice clamors with dissent amid the swirling haze. His skin prickles with goose bumps at the chill in the room and teasing fingertips ghosting elaborate paths down his back. Cool lips seal over his own, initiating an intense but sadly brief kiss.

Clint moves to follow but Loki is already travelling south. He's not sure how much of the fog is the tesseract and how much is lust as his king's beautifully perfect mouth is nibbling at his length. His callused hands stroke and grip at Loki's shoulders. Glowing eyes are enthralled by the sight of himself being swallowed whole and then the sensation has them rolling back into his head with a groan. He grunts and pets softly at long black hair, absently amazed that such a regal figure would honor him so. Delicate hands accompany his mouth, toying with soft skin, palming heavy balls and gradually creeping toward his entrance.

Clint instantly relaxes, familiar with the routine and trained to respond. He doesn't pay any heed to the uncertainty pawing at his consciousness. Marginally cooler fingers — he has yet to figure that one out, only that Loki seems to run at a lower than average temperature — press inside, magically slick. He can feel Loki's free hand playing over the curve of his hip, his mouth still laving at him lazily. Fingers caress his side, curl around to his chest and feather-light kisses dance across his shoulders. Wait.. Kisses. He glances down to see Loki still occupied with his erection. There are an unknown pair of hands upon him, hands that must be attached to the mouth at his neck. Clint jerks back, knocking the stranger behind him to the ground. He turns just in time to see a mirror image of his king fade away into wisps of green smoke.

"Huh?" A rough exclamation of surprise escapes him as he vigilantly scans the room, eyes wide, body shaking with adrenaline.

Loki is on his feet in seconds, looking a little shell shocked himself. His hands flutter towards Clinton, seeming hesitant even to touch. "Shh, sh, didn't meant to frighten you, my hawk," he reassures quietly.

Clint's eyes focus sharply upon Loki, his chest heaving. The god's hands finally come to rest on either side of his neck. The touch alone calms him, the panic being swallowed by a comforting blanket of mist in his mind.

"Better now?" Loki asks needlessly. Clint nods silently, a single hand resting against his king's arm, just a touch to ground himself. "Good.. Watch." Loki moves to stand beside Clint, one arm encircling him. His other hand waves, fingers curling and from the very same green smoke emerges another Loki. The clone stares at Clint with a lustful gaze. "Just a bit of magic."

Barton tilts his head, glancing from one Loki to the other. Magic. His knowledge of what it entailed seems to grow several times a day. So. Loki can make what.. clones of himself? Mirror images? Doppelgangers maybe? Okay. He could roll with that. "Copy that," he murmurs.

"Let us embrace you little hawk."

He's not sure which of them spoke. Can the clone speak? The notion becomes irrelevant because now there's a Loki on his knees before him and another at his back. Four hands touching, two mouths showering affection. It's almost too much for his fog-filled brain to handle. He's not even sure which one is the clone and which is real. Or perhaps they're both real; he doesn't have the brain power to analyze that at the moment. He's hardly cognizant that the uncertainty alone should have him on edge.

Hands are sliding up his abdomen and he stares down through heavy lids. Loki — clone Loki? or is it real Loki? ah, it doesn't matter! — slithers gracefully up, his own cock brushing Clint's. Long fingers caress his face and he croons softly, "Would you prefer something like this?" Loki's form shimmers, his face growing somewhat softer, hair longer and.. Clint blinks. Ample breasts grow before his eyes and farther down, narrow hips grow wider and rounder and the obvious erection that had been there moments prior is gone. It was a perfect render of Loki only with exceptional feminine features. Clint's mouth goes dry. Two archery-callused hands cup soft breasts, even as male Loki nips at his ear lobe and strokes his length from behind.

"Do you like me in this form?" she purrs, very much Loki's voice but softer somehow.

Clint's pupils swell to encompass almost the entirety of his irises as he nods dumbly and lets his hands slip down her curves. He can feel Loki's cock pressing against his backside, shifting to penetrate. He absently spreads his legs slightly in response, enthralled with the lovely lady before him. His toes curl as he's breached, but his hands never stutter as he cups her mound and traces his fingertips along her.

"Yeah.. you want to fuck me, pretty hawk?" she coos, nuzzling the side of his face, her wavy locks tickling his sensitized flesh.

"Yes ma'am." Hmm, ma'am.. Was that right? Well, Loki was in the shape of a female so it made sense. If he didn't think about it too closely. The fog meanders through his train of thoughts and he embraces its presence. His awareness grows hazy between sensation and lust and the ever present mist in his mind. It seems the next second — or perhaps it truly was the next second; with Loki one could never entirely be certain — the three of them are at the end of the massive bed and she's sprawled out before him, legs open, inviting.

Glowing pupils blown, he shuffles forward, Loki keeping flush against his back. He grabs her by her thighs, dragging her to the edge of the bed and, without a moments hesitation, sinks inside of her. She gasps and long-nailed fingers dig into his forearms. The pain is a vague spark that fades into the background as the Loki behind him pulls away and thrusts back in.

Clint bites his lower lip with a groan. One hand remains curled around lady Loki's thigh while the other roams her torso, tweaking her nipples and reveling in soft flesh. Damn, she's gorgeous writhing like that, almost as gorgeous as.. his thoughts skid to a halt. As gorgeous as Nat. A spark of lucidity flashes through and the realization that he is presently fucking and being fucked by Loki makes his stomach sour. Although, his mind argues, Loki has been caring for him quite diligently. As quickly as the clarity surfaces, it is once more engulfed by a heavy fog.

He grunts, his mind lost to sensation. What had he just been thinking? Couldn't be too important.

Loki is doing all of the work, dragging the both of them back and forth, all he has to do is hang on. His back arches, head resting upon man-Loki's shoulder, a hand on each of their thighs.

The Loki in front of him is moaning incessantly as the one behind him mutters all variety of filth in his ear. He's not going to last much longer like this. He tries to convey as much, but the words stick in his throat; the only sounds to escape are gasps and groans.

As if he knows — and who is he kidding, of course he knows — Loki picks up the pace and adjusts his angle. Barton yelps with surprise as his orgasm thunders through him without warning. Both Lokis are still moving and he's vaguely aware of the fact that they are coming simultaneously, clenching around him, milking him for all he's worth and emptying into him all at once. A dull aftershock pulses through him, leaving him shuddering as he gasps for air.

He feels the Loki before him sit up and press her lips to his before dissipating into tendrils of green vapor. His knees quiver with the mere effort of standing before the god, sporting a vainglorious expression, lays him out on the bed to recover. A mere flick of his fingers and Loki is clean, not a spot of sweat or spunk on his body. He leaves Clinton to lie, thoroughly debauched, a flush still present over the majority of his body, ejaculate leaking down his thighs.

Hawk blinks unseeingly, his body buzzing pleasantly. There is a faint twinge in his backside — he's not sure he'll ever be fully accustomed to anal penetration — and a sting on his right shoulder. His brow furrows and he tucks his chin, rolling his head in a struggle to discover the source. Whoa. A fresh, bruising bite mark showcasing a damn near full dentation fills his field of view, the skin broken in a few places and oozing blood. There is a growl of complaint from remaining remnant of his true self as his head thumps back against the mattress. He scarcely has the time to resign himself to worrying about it later as any residual strength in his body is seized and he falls into unconsciousness.

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Yes, Loki pretty much just knocked him out, the little rascal.

Anyhow, I have set up a new poll on my profile page regarding the future of this story. Feel free to vote and contribute via review or message.


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